


Worthy

by JesusCheese



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bang Chan is a Sweetheart, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Sad Minho, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesusCheese/pseuds/JesusCheese
Summary: "I don't deserve you.""None of us deserve the fantastic people we happen to meet, Minho. That doesn't make us bad; it makes us lucky. I am lucky to be your hyung.""But why? Why would you ever be lucky to know me?"
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Everyone
Comments: 19
Kudos: 272





	Worthy

**Author's Note:**

> TW//Self-Harm  
> This story's pretty angsty and sad, so read at your own risk and please don't read if you think it won't be good for you. If that doesn't apply to you, I hope you enjoy it :)

Minho was a part of the hyung line. He was a hyung. He could stop jokes with a glare like his mother had done to him, he could nurse wounds and wipe tears, and he could make everybody feel loved.

But Minho was not the leader. Hell, he wasn’t even the eldest. He knew he probably had a natural ability to care for others, but a part of him couldn’t help questioning that. Was it because he was the only primary caretaker to them or was he actually good at it? Was that his purpose in the group? To be a...a babysitter?

Since being a hyung seemed like his only personality trait at that point, he had to ask- if he was younger...would anybody even care? Would he be a member? He’d been kicked out once before debut, and with Woojin’s departure, he was even less sure of a future with the group. Anything could happen at any time, and when people figured out that he had no real role in the group, they would hate him. They couldn’t dote on him like they did to Felix and Jeongin, compliment him like they did to Seungmin and Hyunjin, or praise him like Chan, Jisung, and Changbin for producing every song and being all-around idols that he could only dream of being.

He wasn’t ready to face the consolations that his members would offer him or the period of walking on eggshells and complimenting him every time he took a breath. He’d seen it after Hyunjin pushed himself too far and fainted, after Chan spent too many sleepless nights trying to prove his worth through endless title tracks, and even in the case of Seungmin, who confessed that he felt nobody took him seriously.

Even the smallest of worries were met with an over-exaggerated reaction, and Minho...Minho was a hyung. Minho did not need it.

But at the same time, Minho wasn’t even sure that he was needed.

…

“Which member looks himself up the most?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Han would boast, pointing his finger in Minho’s face- too close, too obnoxious, too...Han. When had he started getting fed up with his members of all people? He was supposed to love him. He was a Bad Hyung. “He’s constantly watching videos of himself.”

“He must like his own face,” Hyunjin cackled, slapping Seungmin, who only laughed along. Sweet, empathetic Seungmin laughed at him.

“What do you watch?” the interviewer asked him. After a brief translation from Chan, he debated telling her the truth. 

He watched live videos of himself- fancams- to see where he’d messed up and where he’d done well. He watched interviews constantly and cringed at how much he insulted and interacted with the other members. Too harsh, too annoying, too much. It made him want to spend every day in his room and never look at them again.

He was clingy. He knew it; the fans knew it. 

It would’ve been cute, sure, if he was the youngest or even maybe one of the youngest, but the eldest hanging off IN’s shoulder or ‘roasting’ (as the fans called it) Felix? That wasn’t cute. He wasn’t cute. It wasn’t what a good hyung did.

Did that make him a bad one?

“Dance videos,” he ended up answering in English, because at least if he was bad at everything else, he could at least be passable at speaking English (even if Chan, Felix, Han, and Seungmin were all leaps and bounds ahead of him in that category). “I watch...me dance on...on the stage.”

“I bet you’re a fantastic dancer, Lee Know.”

“Oh, no, no,” he shook his hands, hanging his head and smiling, though all he wanted to do was roll his eyes. “Hyunjin is our main dancer.”

“You’re all so good! So much better than me!”

"Oh goodie," Minho thought. He was better than a 30 year old iHeartRadio interviewer. Was that really so much of an achievement?

…

Steam fell into the hallway from the bathroom, and the cold air sent prickles up the second-eldest’s skin. 

“Christ, hyung, if you need some time to yourself, just put a sock on the door. Don’t jerk off the shower when the rest of us need to use it. Can’t you think about anybody other than yourself?”

Sometimes, Changbin could be a complete and utter dick. “Shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up! I’m serious; it’s unhygienic to do that in the shower...just- ugh.”

The bathroom door was slammed in his face before he could retort, and his heart tugged in pain. He wanted to cry, and for no real good reason. He found that he was crying almost every night, for one reason or another. One day, Chan asked everybody out to dinner while he was taking a night to himself on the roof. Another, somebody on Twitter said that the wrong hyung had left and attached a picture of the group with Minho edited (or, rather, maybe not edited? Maybe the group had simply just taken photos without him. Maybe that was normal for them.) out.

Nobody heard him crying, and he couldn’t tell if he was thankful or not. On one hand, he wouldn’t have to explain himself, but on the other, he was muffling his cries in his pillowcases, digging his blunt fingernails into his hips to feel something other than the weight on his chest because dear god, sometimes it just felt like he couldn’t *breathe*.

At times, he was positive that he would die. His lungs would simply continue to refuse the plentiful air in the bedroom, and he would die. Somebody would find his body, all shriveled and blue, and their first thought would be, “at least it wasn’t Chan” because- if they were all being honest, he was the favorite, and-

“Minho?”

He wouldn’t turn around to face him, not when he felt the hot, disgusting wetness on his cheeks. Crying in the hallway...how embarrassing. He pulled his towel up higher on his hips, hiding the half-moons in his skin and walking towards his room.

“Minho, are you okay?”

“Nothing,” he rushed out. “Nothing’s wrong.” Because nothing was wrong. Nothing was different. Everything was as it always was and always would be. Changbin had mouthed off; that was normal. There was absolutely no reason for him to be crying in the hallway- not when somebody as talentless as him had been strung along in the wake of one of the most successful Korean boy groups there was. He should be grateful.

“I didn’t ask if there was anything wrong,” Chan responded, sounding disappointed as he followed him into the room and closed the door behind the both of them. “I asked if you were alright.”

Was he? “I don’t even know.”

Chan nodded, a serious look on his face. “Is it one thing in particular getting to you, or does it all feel too much today? Something else entirely?”

A can of worms that could be opened with a long discussion that Minho would take to his grave. He would not be treated like a child, complaining because he thought he was being taken for granted. How selfish could he be? “It’s been a long day, and I just...I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Chan pulled him in for a hug, bare torso engulfed in a warm sweatshirt. “Well, I don’t really believe you, Min, but you know I’m here if you need me, alright? Any of us would say the same.” 

“Thank you.”

“I can’t make you tell me what’s under your skin, but know that if you want to vent, I’m happy to listen. Get some rest and come to my room if you need something...I love you.”

Did he? For what? “I love you too.”

…

Lie detector game- a stupid, unreliable game that’s often played when people drink. It was fun; or, at least, it was supposed to be. Minho didn’t like it because even if the rest of the team knew how fallible the device was, it might lead to uncomfortable conversations, depending on which questions were thrown at him.

He hoped (somewhat unrealistically) that his members would have some sense and avoid sensitive questions. And for a while, they did.

“Do you think that you’re the most attractive one in the room?” Jeongin started, reading a sample question from the box.

That one was easy. “No.” Ding ding ding, not a lie.

“Really?” Jisung asked, making a face to the camera for the people watching their live. “Who is it?”

“Felix.” BZZZ. Minho ripped his hand away, hissing in foux-pain to increase the drama factor for the viewers. “It was the truth!”

“Somehow, that hurts more than not being chosen at all,” Felix chucked, wiping away a fake tear. “Let’s ask another one! Put your hand back in.”

Minho complied.

“Who is the best dancer in this room?” Han tried.

Another easy one. “Hyunjin.” Ding ding ding, correct. Of course. 

“If you were a girl, which member would you date?”

Ooh, that one was a bit trickier. Chan? He was sensible and kind and had dimples. Changbin was funny and affectionate. Hyunjin would be the type to take his girlfriend on dinner dates and tell them how much he loved them. Han? Well...Han would be more like a best friend than a boyfriend. Felix could be a good boyfriend- one of the shy types, maybe. Seungmin was a puppy, and Minho could never, even as a female. Jeongin was- in his eyes- still a baby, so...no.

“Chan-hyung.”

Waiting with baited breath.

Ding ding ding, correct.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Come on!”

“I’d be such a good boyfriend to you, hyung!”

“Why would you do this?”

He laughed, letting himself be pushed around without much fuss. He’d gotten into a routine- put on a smile and let the rest do what needed to be done. If he kept his mouth shut, there would be no problems. If he kept his mouth shut, there was no space to be embarrassed or ridiculed or pushed further away for being too mean or too clingy.

If he was silent-

“Do you know how much you add to this team?” Ahh, Seungmin, ever the deep-thinker...Minho hated it.

Why yes, yes he did. He added...he added...he added a member. He added a hyung. He added a body in their packed van and another person in the dorm. “Yes?” 

BUZZ

“Since we’re getting deep,” Chan stepped in, wiggling his eyebrows at the fans. “Do you know how much we love you?”

“You’re so corny.”

“Come on, answer it,” Changbin encouraged. “I want to see.”

And judging by the interested silence, so were the rest of them. Did he know how much they loved him? Maybe....sure, he knew they loved him. As to why they held such a special place in their hearts for a coworker, he did not know, but…”Yes.”

BUZZ

The members made many disappointed groans, and Minho felt like a perpetrator. It wasn’t his damn fault the machine was broken.

“I think we should show our Lee Know just how much we love him, then, shall we?” Chan asked, looking to Hyunjin, who read out the comments of affirmation from the fans. They all wrapped their arms around Minho, squishing him until he had no air in his lungs. It felt like crying in his bedroom but better- warmer. 

The tears on his cheeks were just the same though. He didn’t deserve this. Why would they waste their fucking time on him when he punched his ribcage to startle some air into his lungs, stabbed his hips to keep from being obnoxious, smiled so fake, and avoided them at all cost...when he messed up dance moves, lyrics, melodies, when his jokes went to far and his leadership was lacking. Who did they think they were? Who did they think he was?

“Are you crying?”

“Oh, we made him cry!”

“Hyung’s such a sensitive baby!”

He crushed the closest hand next to him, closing his eyes until it hurt and grunting out a strained, “turn it off.” He couldn’t do this in front of the fans. His fingers were itching to get to his tingling hip flesh, and they were still laughing, and it hurt. It fucking hurt. It was too much.

Whichever unfortunate member whose hand received his crushing grip had seemed to realize it, though, and the camera was focused on one member’s face for the ending comments, not even angled at Minho and whoever was trying to keep him quiet while also pulling his hands away from where they were clamped around his stomach.

“Goodbye!”

“Stop!” Didn’t they understand that if his hands weren’t holding himself together, his insides would fall through the cracks? He’d fall apart and disappear and they’d have to deal with the fallout. He couldn’t do that.

“Hyung, you’re hurting yourself.”

Hyung? Whoever was pulling his fingernails out from where they were scratching at the scabs was one of the younger ones? If he was being cared for by a baby, he had no right to call himself a hyung. He’d just lost the only redeeming quality that he possessed, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

“Hyung, come on, stop doing that, please!”

“Holy shit, these scars are pretty old. Hyung, have you-”

“Get off,” Minho gasped out, pushing the hands away from his exposed hips, pulling his shirt back down, and standing on wobbly legs, hating the way that hands shot out from all directions to catch him. “I can’t- I can’t-” he couldn’t breathe. He was going to go blue and die this time for real; he was sure of it. And it would be in front of all of his members.

“Fuck!” he screamed, doubling over with hands in his hair. His brain was going to drip out of his nose and his ribs were going to close in on his heart until it refused to beat the blood through his veins. “I can’t- I’m dying.”

“Hyung, sit down, come on,” Seungmin’s voice called over the haze. His butt thunked hard on the carpeted ground, pulling whoever was supporting him down behind him. Seungmin was there, though, ever so calm and sweet. Even as Minho was a mess, he was there. He shouldn't have been. “Breathe with me; you can do it.”

Didn’t he understand? Didn’t the idiot get it? He was nothing anymore; of course he couldn’t breathe. “I’m dying...Seung...I- I’m dying...I’m dying.”

“You’re not going to die,” Seungmin told him calmly, taking his hands and placing them against Minho’s chest. “Your heart is strong. Fast, but strong. You can slow it down.”

“I can’t!”

“You can. You won’t die; you have the power here. Nothing’s wrong, nobody’s mad, and you can take your time...you just have to breathe, hyung...breathe.”

Minho sobbed, tucking his face in between his knees. He didn’t want anybody to see him snot-covered and hysterical. He was a hyung. “This shouldn’t be h- ha- happenin-ing.” He hiccuped.

“But it is, and we’ll deal with it. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it, Minho.” That was Chan, then. Nobody else called him Minho unless they had a death wish. “We love you.”

“Just why the fuck would you?” he slurred out, a bit loopy from the lack of oxygen and tired from the emotional whiplash he’d just experienced. He was still breathless, but his vision was no longer quickly approaching a blackout.

“Hyung, what-”

“Not right now,” Chan shot him down. “Let’s just go to bed right now, okay? The rest of you go to bed, and I’ll help out here, okay?” Nothing happened for a while. “Go on; it’s late. We’ll be alright.”

“If you’re sure…’

“I’m sure. Go to bed please.”

That finally got them to go to bed, and Minho felt the cloudiness subside just a bit, now that it was only him and Chan. Chan was his hyung, his rock, his everything. He didn't deserve Chan- any of them, really, but Chan especially. Why would such a horrible hyung get such an amazing one?

“I assumed you were feeling crowded...Are you back with me?”

“I’m sorry.” It was off his tongue before he could even register what word it was, before he could register the hypocrisy of going against one of his famous rules.

“You don’t get to apologize for feelings, Minho-yah; you know that.” 

He wasn’t, though. He wasn't apologizing for having feelings. He was apologizing because he'd cheated life and won. He’d been dealt a hand much too good for the player, and he had no idea what to do with it. It was exhausting. “I’m so tired.”

“Let’s go to bed, then. We can go to my room.”

“A million hours of sleep couldn’t help me, hyung...I’m fucked.” Chan pulled him up as he said this, not faltering even as Minho delivered one of the most honest, most gut-wrenching thoughts he’d had for a long time. That thought took his breath away. That thought scarred his hips and bruised his ribs.

“Maybe sleep won’t help right now, but it can’t hurt you,” Chan responded, not quite knowing the reason behind Minho’s breakdown but trying to do his best nonetheless. “We can figure this out in the morning. For now, just trust me. Sleep with me. I’ll keep you safe, just for tonight.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“None of us deserve any of the fantastic people we happened to meet, Minho. That doesn’t make us bad; it makes us lucky. I am lucky to be your hyung.”

“But...but why? Why would you ever be lucky to know me?”

“Because you are the best man I’ve ever met, and you add so much to this team and to myself. I wouldn’t be here without you; none of us would.” Minho opened his mouth to retort but Chan was faster. “And before you argue, just know that I’m not having it. You’re a part of this team, whether you like it or not, and we need you all the way.”

There was no stopping his true emotions from revealing themselves. “I feel like a phony.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Minho hummed. “We all do. We’re just people, and somehow, we’ve got the whole world thinking that we’re these...invincible superstars. It’s only natural that you feel lost or unworthy...maybe like a phony sometimes, but there is no faking your importance, your character, or your influence.”

Chan guided him to the bed, crawling in behind him and letting his hand ghost over the half-moons on his hip. “We’ll bandage them in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Minho whispered out, shuddering until Chan pulled up the blanket. He then added, almost as an afterthought, “I didn’t mean to.” Chan needed to know that he didn't want to do that to himself. He didn't want to be grotesque and disfigured. He just needed to be pulled up to the surface sometimes.

Chan rubbed his back slow and steady, very nearly putting Minho to sleep. “I know you didn't mean to...just sleep for now. The morning will bring another day and you can try again.”

Chan waited around ten minutes until his gentle rubbing eased Minho’s mind enough to knock him out. He’d had much practice with that. When he was positive that the younger’s breaths were steady and his sleep was deep, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss into his messy hair. “You’re my brother, Minho. I love you so much that the word love isn’t enough...You’re worthy of that. You’ll always be worthy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment if you'd like. I can't say I've ever done a story quite like this, so...uhh, tell me if you like it, I guess? Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
